When Life Gives You Dragons
by Spottedfyre
Summary: Two hundred years after the Oblivion Crisis, the Champion of Cyrodiil's son is brought to Helgen as a prisoner of the Thalmor and escapes with the Dragonborn - a cook working in Ulfric Stormcloak's camp. Whether this will aid the Dragonborn in his quest or needlessly complicate his life is open to interpretation. Eventual Cosnach/OMC slash and Dragonborn/Serana het pairings.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Hi there, and welcome to my fanfic! This is a sort-of sequel to my Oblivion story, "The Gods Must be Crazy", though it isn't necessary to read that before starting this, and I will do my best to explain and give proper context to anything in it that gets referenced here. I may try to summarize it on my profile, if anyone's interested. As is the case with pretty much everything I write, there will be slash in this. Because there is not enough of it in this fandom. Also, Cosnach needs more love. You have been warned. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and any and all feedback is appreciated!

For anyone wondering what happened to "The Gods Work in Mysterious Ways", I really wasn't happy with the quality of the writing I put into it, and the two main characters just didn't go together as well as I'd thought they would. I also didn't like the overall tone that the writing in it ended up with, and writing it just wasn't fun.

Disclaimer: All I own are the OCs.

And Hypherion betareads this for me.

Chapter time!

Edwin awoke with a jolt as the cart rolled over a bump in the road. For what wasn't the first time, he wondered whether accepting that job as a cook in Jarl Ulfric's camp had been a good idea. Sure, he got to wear a Stormcloak uniform and his father didn't think he was a _complete_ failure anymore, but he'd really have preferred to not get caught in that Imperial ambush. At least he knew that Ulfric's cause was justified, though. Anyone that thought a young man armed with naught but a ladle and a kettle of lukewarm stew was enough of a threat to capture alongside trained soldiers had no right to run an empire.

Gods, even the _horse thief _belonged on that cart more than he did. While he knew it would probably have just gotten him killed, he wished he would have at least _tried _to fight off the Imperials instead of surrendering like a milk drinker. At least then he could know that if he was headed for execution, he could die with honor and find a place for himself in Sovngarde. But there was little use in dwelling on that now.

The presence of General Tullius and several Thalmor agents in Helgen as the train of carts passed through the city made it hard to imagine anything but an execution as his final destination. Most of his cart-mates seemed to be of the same opinion, and as they were being unloaded in a large, open section of the city with an ominous-looking stone block set up in its center the horse thief tried to make a run for it. Edwin was halfway tempted to follow him until a pair of Imperial archers turned the man into a human pincushion. At least a beheading would be quicker.

For some reason only the gods knew, he was the second prisoner called to the chopping block. He managed to keep himself from retching as he knelt beside the corpse of one of his former comrades, and tried not to look down as he laid his head in the still-warm pool of blood on the block. They hadn't even bothered to remove the first man's head from the box beneath him, and its bloody stump and lifeless, staring eyes unnerved him more than he cared to admit. Whatever happened, he couldn't let himself show any fear. Nords died with honor. The headsman's axe glistened an almost beautiful shade of red in the sunlight as he raised it, and Edwin squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for it to fall.

The blow never came, however. Instead, he heard screaming and the world around him shook with some kind of terrible force. Edwin opened his eyes to see a black dragon perched atop the tower beside him, staring right at him as it prepared to let loose another attack. The world shook again, and then everything went dark.

-Meanwhile…-

To say that Marcel was having a bad day would have been an understatement. Well, it had been more of a bad _week_, really, but things were not going well for him either way. Leaving Cyrodiil for Skyrim had seemed like a great idea at the time; Skyrim was one of the provinces that the Thalmor had the least influence in, and he'd grown tired of them breathing down his neck constantly. What he hadn't planned for was running into worse things than Thalmor agents once he got there.

He'd barely made it over the border before a sabre cat had pounced on him out of nowhere and given him a good mauling that had been immortalized in the lovely new scars on his face. After that, a group of bandits had stumbled across him, robbed him of everything but his smallclothes, and left him for dead in the snow. He had then had the good fortune of being along the route of a Thalmor patrol led by none other than Skyrim's First Emissary Elenwen herself. Who had immediately recognized him, commanded that he be healed well enough to keep him alive, and taken him as a prisoner. And now it looked like he was scheduled for execution alongside several cartloads of Stormcloaks.

"Can't we talk this over?" He asked as he tried to keep pace with Elenwen's horse. Being tied to a saddle was not fun. "For old times' sake? You're not _really _going to kill your best friend, are you?"

"You're not _really _stupid enough to think that us being playmates nearly two centuries ago will convince me to spare you, are you?" Elenwen replied, bringing her horse to a halt. "How an elf could choose to ally himself with humans instead of his own kind as… _dramatically _as you have is quite beyond me."

"You _do _remember it, though. I knew you still cared." Marcel smiled at the irritated sigh, followed by a ghost of a smile, the Altmer let out. "And as I recall, us Dunmer are just as inferior to you as humans are. Besides, I'm also half Imperial. It's not my fault I identify more with the half I don't look like."

"_Former _friend or not, I couldn't let you go if I wanted to. You've hindered our cause too much over the years for me to let you slip through my fingers without severe consequences."

"I'm not saying you should just let me go," the Dunmer said. "Just… maybe loosen that rope attaching me to your saddle a bit. I can run off into the forest, you can reprimand your soldiers for not tying a more secure knot, and everyone can live happily ever after."

"Absolutely not. I-" Whatever Elenwen had intended to say was drowned out by a powerful explosion of some kind and the sound of panicked screams somewhere nearby.

Before any of them could make sense of what was happening, what could only have been a dragon flew over them, and set the houses around them on fire. Elenwen and her fellow Thalmor agents abandoned him in favor of getting themselves safely inside the town's large, stone keep and, through either deliberate sabotage on Elenwen's part or a fortuitously unsecure knot, Marcel was able to break free of her horse. All the city gates were securely closed, so he had little option but to go towards whatever was unfolding at the town's center. Hopefully the dragon and fires would keep everyone from noticing his bound hands and ragged prisoner's garb.

As he drew closer to where the executions must have been held, the flames grew larger and hotter, and he had to fight his way past a small army of fleeing townspeople and soldiers, Imperial and Stormcloak alike. Once he was alone except for the corpses of a few unlucky sods that couldn't outrun the dragon, he looked for something he could use to cut the ropes off his wrists. A large axe resting by a stone block served his purpose well enough, and he was about to go looking for a place to hide until things had died down a bit when he noticed that one of the corpses surrounding him was still breathing.

Marcel was fairly sure it was a Nord, and while he was wearing a Stormcloak uniform he looked like he was barely out of his teens. His light brown hair was streaked with blood oozing out of a gash on the man's forehead where he must have knocked his head against _something _in the chaos of the dragon attack. Whatever had happened to him, a closer inspection revealed that he was definitely still alive, but wouldn't be for long if the dragon decided to stop torching the other side of the town and make another pass over the place its rampage had started. Even if the dragon left him alone, he wasn't likely to last very long on his own, especially against any animals or humans who came along to scavenge what they could from the town's remains.

Normally the Dunmer would have just left him there, but for some reason he couldn't force himself to do it. He didn't know the man, and while he didn't know much about the Stormcloak rebellion he did know that they weren't exactly friendly to anything that wasn't a Nord. Especially elves. He had no way of knowing how this one would react if he woke up and realized he'd been helped by a Dunmer. Still, he did seem like he was young enough to be open to different ways of viewing the world, and even if he did react badly he probably wouldn't be much of a threat. It just wouldn't have felt right to condemn someone who hadn't even grown a beard yet to that kind of death, either. The dragon making its way closer to their location finally settled it.

Inwardly thanking the gods that the man wasn't as broadly built as most of his countrymen, Marcel dragged the unconscious Nord into a sturdy-looking stone tower and waited for him to wake up.

-Later-

Edwin awoke to find himself safely inside and away from the dragon. He tried to sit up, only to fall back to the floor with a groan when his head felt as though someone had taken a warhammer to it. He gingerly prodded at his forehead and found a rough strip of fabric wrapped around it in a makeshift bandage. It was damp, though an inspection of his fingers revealed that it wasn't with blood, thank the Nine.

"Good, you're awake," a decidedly non-Nordic voice said from somewhere near his feet.

Curious as to who had moved him, and whether he had only been saved from the dragon to meet his end at the hands of another Imperial headsman, Edwin sat up again, more slowly this time, and found himself looking into the red eyes of a Dunmer.

He was dresses in a ragged set of clothes, with a wide strip of cloth missing from the shirt that had probably been used to bandage Edwin's head. The dark gray skin on the elf's wrists had been chafed to a shade of red that almost matched his hair and, as the patch of facial hair beneath his lower lip made abundantly clear, would have been more than capable of growing the beard that the gods seemed so intent on denying the young Nord. It was clear enough that the Dunmer had also been a prisoner, though he had no idea who had taken him captive, or why. It did, however, seem safe to assume that he was not a Stormcloak.

"Who are you?" Edwin asked.

"Marcel. Are you all right? I found a healing potion on that corpse, but it probably wasn't enough to completely heal that head wound of yours," the Dunmer replied, gesturing to the body of one of Edwin's former comrades.

"I'm fine," the Nord said, shakily forcing himself to stand. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "My name's Edwin."

"It's nice to meet you." Marcel got to his feet as well. "Do you think you can travel? I'd rather not spend the night here if we can avoid it."

"We?" Grateful as he was that the Dunmer had helped him, Edwin wasn't sure he liked the idea of them traveling together. He'd never live it down if anyone found out that he'd needed help from a gray-skin, and for all he knew Marcel was working with the Imperials. Though it wouldn't have made much sense for anyone on their side to help a Stormcloak…

"Whatever your plans are, I'm going with you. I didn't drag you through a burning town so you could wander off and get yourself killed."

"I don't need your help," Edwin growled. He was tired of other people seeing him as weak, but at least it made sense when it was coming from someone who was bigger than he was. Even if it was probably justified given his condition, he couldn't accept being treated like a weakling by someone smaller than him, especially when that someone was an elf.

"All right. Let's see you go off on your own, then."

Edwin managed to make it out of the tower and into the ruined town before he realized that, while he probably could have walked anywhere that wasn't too far away, he wasn't going to be fighting off anything stronger than a newborn kitten for a while. The sun, low in the sky as it was, was incredibly bright, and if he moved too quickly or suddenly his head ached and the world around him seemed to spin.

"We can travel together," he sighed, leaning against the side of the tower.

"That's what I thought. So, where are we going?"

"We should go to the nearest hold capital, and tell the Jarl about the dragon attack. Someone needs to spread the word about what happened here, and there's no guarantee that anyone else made it out alive. Our best bet is probably Whiterun, but it's a bit of a walk…"

"We'd better get started, then," Marcel said, picking through a pile of rubble near the tower's base.

"We should. There's another town around here somewhere. Riverwood, I think its name was. It might be best if we stopped there for the night and finished our walk to Whiterun in the morning."

"That's fine by me." Marcel had moved most of the rubble out of the way, and dragged the corpse of an Imperial soldier out of what was left.

Edwin cringed as the Dunmer stripped the man of his armor and put it on, his heart sinking when he saw his traveling companion wearing an Imperial uniform. Even if that soldier had sided with the Imperials, it felt wrong to stand by and let someone rob his corpse. He supposed there was no helping it, though; without robbing any corpses, Marcel would have been stuck wearing those tattered rags for the gods knew how long. He looked around for a weapon for himself as the Dunmer fastened the Imperial soldier's sword to his belt, and settled for a sturdy-looking warhammer sticking out of another pile of rubble. He doubted he'd be able to swing anything more than once, but hopefully if he was wielding a warhammer he wouldn't need to.

Once they'd picked up everything useful or valuable in they could find, they left the ruined town and struck off in what Edwin hoped was the direction of Riverwood and Whiterun.

"So, what were they going to chop your head off for?" Marcel asked once they were a fair distance down the road.

"I was working as a cook in a Stormcloak camp and there was a raid…"

"The Imperial Legion is executing cooks now? That's not ridiculous at all…"

"…Why were you there?" Edwin asked. He'd assumed that, whatever he was a prisoner for, the Dunmer had at least started out on the Imperials' side. But if he was willing to criticize their actions, maybe he'd misjudged the elf.

"I pissed off the Thalmor."

"How did you do that?"

"Everything, or just the most recent part? Because those are very different answers."

"By the Nine, how long is your history with them?"

"Well over a hundred years. Closer to two, really."

"That's explanation enough for me," Edwin said. "Does that mean you're not working with the Imperials, either?"

Marcel sighed. "I am a loyal citizen of the Empire who happens to think that the best way to show that loyalty is interfering with the Thalmor's plans when I can."

Edwin was silent for a moment, trying to figure out what to make of his traveling companion. On the one hand, he and the Dunmer were in agreement on their opinion of the Thalmor. On the other, their thoughts on the Empire itself clearly differed. Still, some common ground was better than none, and he just couldn't find it in himself to dislike the elf.

"Whatever side you're on, thanks for helping me get out of Helgen," he finally said. Edwin saw no purpose in making enemies where he didn't have to, and anyone that was willing to drag an unconscious stranger to safety was probably worth trying to befriend.

"Thanks for getting over that pride of yours," Marcel replied, the corners of his mouth turning up into a small smile.

The rest of their journey to Riverwood passed in a pleasant silence, with both parties content in the knowledge that whatever the next day brought, at least they wouldn't have to face it alone.

AN: And, end. Thanks for taking the time to read this, and I hope that you enjoyed it. If you didn't, it would be awesome if you could tell me what I did wrong so I can try and fix it. Or, if you liked it and are inclined to let me know what I did well, that would be pretty awesome, too. Anonymous reviews are enabled, so you don't even have to log in. Thanks again for reading, and have a great afternoon/morning/evening/night/whatever time you're reading this at!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Welcome to chapter two! The planned pairings for this have switched up a bit, because as I was finalizing my plans for this fic's future, Edwin ended up making a lot more sense paired off with Serana than his original love interest. This is the last time anything on this fic is changing, I promise. This is what happens when I get too far ahead of myself with new projects... I apologize for any inconvenience that this has caused.

Anyway, thank you to everyone who read and/or followed/favorite this last time, you guys are awesome!

Disclaimer: I still only own the OCs.

And Hypherion is still betareading this for me.

On with the chapter!

Riverwood wasn't a particularly large or well-fortified town, but Marcel was tired enough that even the piles of rubble back in Helgen would have seemed like a good place to spend the night. Its inn was small, but clean and warm, and the Dunmer had found more than enough septims on the corpse he'd taken his armor from to pay for a room for the night and some clean bandages for Edwin's head. It was too late to visit the general goods store and see if they had any healing potions in stock, but the Nord seemed well enough to wait until morning to get himself fully healed. He could have sworn he'd seen the innkeeper somewhere before, but he was too tired to care and he didn't suppose it would have mattered much if he had, anyway.

The bed was soft, and more than warm enough to keep out the cold Skyrim weather with Edwin there to share it with him. Not that the cold would have been much of a problem in his current state; he'd been asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Edwin's head had healed except for a slight headache the next morning, but they decided to see if the general goods store, the Riverwood Trader, had a healing potion before going to Whiterun just to be safe. They opened the door to find a man and woman arguing by the counter.

"Well, one of us has to do something!" the woman snapped.

"I said no, Camilla! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"

"Well what are you going to do then, Lucan? Let's hear it!"

"We are done talking about this," Lucan said, looking as though he was going to say more until he turned his head and noticed them standing there. "Oh, a customer. Sorry you had to hear that. I don't know what you may have heard, but the Riverwood Trader is still open for business."

"Did something happen?" Marcel asked. If the shopkeepers decided to start arguing again, Edwin wasn't going to be the only one with a splitting headache…

"Well, yes, we did have a bit of a… break-in. But we still have plenty to sell. Robbers were only after one thing. An ornament, solid gold. In the shape of a dragon's claw."

"…You don't happen to remember what these robbers look like, do you?" It was a long shot at best, but if dragons were flying about again then he didn't see why the bandits who'd taken his belongings couldn't have been behind this robbery as well.

"Just ordinary bandits, really. Fur armor, more muscle than sense."

"You didn't happen to get a look at their leader, did you?"

"I can't say I did. Why? You looking for someone?"

"That's one way of putting it. My friend and I have business in Whiterun today, but as soon as that's over I might pay a visit to these robbers of yours." Marcel was well aware of Edwin's eyes intently focusing on him, though if the boy had any objections to his plan he didn't seem as though he was inclined to voice them.

"You could? I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you can bring my claw back. Now, if you're going get those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town," Lucan replied. He then turned to Camilla, "That means you don't have to go now, do you?"

"Fine. At least _someone _around here has the initiative to get off his ass and do something about this," Camilla said, muttering to herself as she climbed the stairs leading to what were probably the store's living quarters.

"Well, now that that's over with, was there something you came in here for?" Lucan asked.

"I'd like to buy a healing potion, if you have any in stock."

"I think I've got one or two around here somewhere," the Imperial said, rummaging around beneath the store counter for a few moments before placing a small, red bottle on the counter in front of him. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

"That's all. How much will it cost?"

"Just take it. Consider it an advance on your payment for taking out those thieves."

"Thanks," the Dunmer said, taking the potion and exiting the store. Once they were outside, he tossed it to Edwin.

"So, what was that about?" Edwin asked after downing the potion.

"I was robbed by a group of bandits on my way over the border. It's possible that they went this way afterwards, and if they're the same group that robbed that store then I'm hoping they'll still have at least some of my gear."

"You're really going to try to take out a whole bandit camp by yourself?" one of the Nord's eyebrows was raised in obvious doubt.

"That's the plan."

"You're sure you don't want any company?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I'll be all right," Marcel replied. Bandits could be a challenge for even the most experienced adventurers, and he didn't want to be responsible for anything bad happening to Edwin. If he did find himself a companion, he'd want someone who'd had more time to live their life and gain experience. And had been trained as a fighter, not a cook.

"If you're sure…" Edwin looked as though he may have intended to protest the Dunmer's plan further, but was cut off by the town blacksmith calling them over.

"Ain't every day we get visitors in Riverwood," the man said, looking them over. "Especially ones dressed like you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marcel asked. He knew that his armor didn't fit him particularly well, but he didn't think that that pointing it out was really worth the effort the blacksmith had put into it.

"This is the first time I've seen a Stormcloak and an Imperial Legion soldier traveling together."

_Now _it made sense. "We ran into some trouble in Helgen and this was the first armor I could find."

"What kind of trouble?" the man didn't seem to be any less suspicious.

"There was a dragon," Edwin said before Marcel could think of a more logical explanation.

"What? A dragon? In Helgen? That explains what I saw earlier... flying down the valley from the south... I was hoping I was wrong about what I thought it was..."

"Well, you weren't," Marcel said. If that was the story the man wanted to believe, than he wasn't going to question it. "I wouldn't believe it myself if I hadn't seen it flying around and setting things on fire…"

"A dragon... here in Skyrim. What's this world coming to? First the war, now dragons... trouble loves company, they say..." the blacksmith sighed, shaking his head. "We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can."

"That's what we were on our way to do. I don't suppose you have any armor I could trade this for?" the Dunmer asked, gesturing to his uniform. The last thing he and Edwin would need was for the people of Whiterun to think they looked suspicious. The news they were planning on bringing to the city would probably do that more than well enough. "I think Edwin's more attached to his uniform than I am to mine."

"Edwin?" the blacksmith shifted his attention to the young Nord, intently studying his face. "You're Edwin Head-Smasher, aren't you?"

"Yes," Edwin cringed. "It's good to see you again, Alvor."

"What were you doing in Helgen? Did the Imperials finally get around to dealing with your father's camp?"

"Not exactly…"

"That's a damn shame. What that mother of yours saw in that man, I'll never know…" Alvor turned his attention back to Marcel. "I have a set of leather armor I can trade you for that uniform. It should be about your size. It's inside my house; you two wait here."

"Head-Smasher?" Marcel asked once the man was out of earshot. Edwin must have been quite the interesting cook to earn himself a name like that.

Edwin cringed again. "Yes. My father is Hjornskar Head-Smasher; he's one of Jarl Ulfric's commanders."

"How did a Stormcloak commander's son end up working as a cook?"

"It's a long story… I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"Fair enough." It was clear that Edwin's family wasn't a subject he was overly comfortable with talking about, and Marcel saw no reason to press him for more information. "Do you live around here, then?"

"No, but my father's camp is nearby. Our house is in Markarth, about a day's ride west of here. My mother and I visited him a couple of times, though, and we lost our way and ended up in Riverwood the first time."

It was then that Alvor returned with the set of armor he'd promised. It was almost a perfect fit for the Dunmer, and it was obvious that it was worth more than his 'borrowed' Imperial Legion uniform. He wasn't about to object to the blacksmith's generosity, however, and he supposed he could justify it as payment for delivering news of the dragon attack to Whiterun. The people of Skyrim were surprisingly trusting… Or at least, the ones in this town were. Though if Riverwood's people were willing to put so much trust in complete strangers, he had no idea why the bandits had bothered with stealing Lucan's golden claw when they probably could have concocted some sort of lie to convince the man to allow them to take it with them when they left. Bandits definitely weren't hired for their intelligence…

With their business in Riverwood completed, Marcel and Edwin made their way to Whiterun. The city wasn't far from Riverwood, and it was still early in the afternoon by the time they reached its gates.

"Halt! City's closed with the dragons about. Official business only," a guard said as they approached.

"But that's why we're here; we have news about the dragons," Marcel replied. Why the guard thought that closing the city's gate would protect its citizens from a flying dragon, he would never know.

"Sure you do, gray-skin. You can tell the Jarl all about it once the city's open again. Not that we need any more of your kind living here…"

"It's true," Edwin said. "We were at Helgen when the dragon attacked."

The guard looked the Nord over for a moment before replying, "Fine, you can enter the city. But we'll be keeping an eye on you."

"Did that guard know your family, too?" Marcel asked as they walked through the gate.

"No. Most people just aren't overly fond of your kind around here," Edwin replied. "They think that you're all cowards and Imperial spies."

"Is that what you think?"

Edwin paused. "I don't know what I think. You're definitely not a coward, but I wouldn't be surprised if you were an Imperial spy."

"At least you're honest," the Dunmer sighed. He knew that Skyrim wasn't a particularly friendly place to live for anyone that wasn't a Nord, but refusing to believe a Dunmer only to readily accept the same information when it came from a Nord was ridiculous. And even if he was an Imperial spy, unless he was trying to smuggle recipes out of Skyrim there was no reason for him to be following Edwin around.

It didn't take them long to reach Dragonsreach, the home of Whiterun's Jarl. When they entered the castle, they found him arguing with an Imperial man. Before they could get close enough to get his attention, however, they were stopped by a Dunmer that appeared to be one of the Jarl's guards.

"What is the meaning of this interruption?" she demanded. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

"Alvor sent me. Riverwood is in danger," Edwin replied.

"It's all right, Irileth. I want to hear what he has to say," said the Jarl before Irileth had a chance to respond. "What's this about Riverwood being in danger?"

"A dragon destroyed Helgen and Alvor is afraid Riverwood is next," Edwin said, approaching the Jarl's throne. Marcel followed close behind him to offer the Nord his support if it was required, but after the reception he had received at the gates it seemed as though leaving most of the talking to Edwin was a good idea. Even if the Jarl was accepting enough of Dunmer to keep one as a bodyguard.

"Alvor? The smith, isn't he? Reliable, solid fellow. Not prone to flights of fancy... And you're sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?"

"Yes. I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head," Edwin replied. It certainly wasn't how Marcel would have chosen to word his response, but he couldn't have said he wasn't expecting something similar to happen. For better or worse, Edwin seemed to be quite committed to the Stormcloak cause. The Dunmer just hoped that Whiterun's Jarl didn't have a different opinion on the civil war.

"Really? You're certainly... forthright about your criminal past. But it's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. The lives of my people are more important than the punishment of a few prisoners of war." The Jarl turned to the man he had been arguing with earlier. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains..." Irileth said.

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him," Proventus snapped, glaring at the Dunmer.

"Enough! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once," the Jarl ordered.

"Yes, my Jarl," Irileth replied.

"We should not-" Proventus' protest was cut off by the Jarl.

"I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!"

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties," the Imperial said, leaving the Jarl's side.

"That would be best," Balgruuf replied, turning his attention back to Athyn. "Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem." He presented the Nord with a set of iron armor.

"Thank you," Edwin said.

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps. Collect that friend of yours, and let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

As it turned out, the quest Balgruuf planned to send them on was to go into Bleak Falls Barrow and retrieve the Dragonstone it contained. Which, while the promise of a reward for their efforts cemented Marcel's decision to travel there, also meant that Edwin would be going with him. He just hoped that Commander Head-Smasher had taught his son _something _about fighting. Losing someone with as much enthusiasm for life and the things he believed in as Edwin over a rock would be a terrible waste. And, bizarre as it was, he had to admit that he'd grown fond of the young Nord in the time they'd spent together. Letting him get slaughtered by bandits was not something the Dunmer intended to do.

"I guess I'll be helping you with those bandits after all," Edwin said as the exited the castle.

"That you will. I'd put that new armor of yours on if I were you; you'll probably be needing it."

A/N: And, end. Thanks for reading, and I hope that this chapter was to your liking. It would be super awesome if you left a review on your way out. It would be nice to know what people actually think of this; it would help me figure out how I'm doing so far, and hopefully make any necessary improvements. And it would make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Thanks again for reading, and have a great remainder of your day!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: And here's chapter three. I didn't plan for this quest to take up a whole chapter, but it just wouldn't stop growing... Anyway, this fic actually has a nice looking cover image now, thanks to my super awesome betareader, so you don't have to look at my crappy chibi doodle cover any longer! As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and pretty please leave one if you feel inclined to do so. They're great motivation for writing more, and it's always nice to know what people think of my work.

Disclaimer: I still only own the OCs.

And Hypherion is still betareading this for me.

On with the chapter!

It was nearing sunset by the time they reached the entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow, and while the fading light had allowed them to pass by the sentries the bandits had placed in a tower along the path earlier, they had no such luck with the bandits outside the crypt's doors. While he'd objected to it at the time, Edwin was glad that he'd gone along with Marcel's suggestion that he give up his Stormcloak uniform in favor of the sturdier iron armor Jarl Balgruuf had given him. It shielded him from the arrows of the archers the Dunmer had run off in search of when the fight began, allowing him to focus on the axe-wielding brigand that had been left to him.

The Nord dispatched the man with a couple swings of his hammer, then ran after his companion. He passed the corpses of a pair of archers, one of which was missing her bow and quiver of arrows, and found Marcel trying to circle around a large Nord with a long-handled axe, staying just out of the man's striking range. Edwin let out a battle cry and charged the man, only for the other Nord take a swipe at Marcel that forced the Dunmer between him and Edwin's hammer.

"Watch where you're swinging that thing!" Marcel snapped, twisting himself out of the path of the Nord's warhammer just before it smashed through the space he'd been occupying and into the bandit.

"Sorry!" Edwin removed the hammer from what was left of the bandit's head. At the very least, he wasn't half bad at swinging a warhammer. He just needed to learn how to time said swings a bit better… Which was always the part of his training where his father had given up on him out of frustration. At least Marcel was quick on his feet.

"Gods, didn't your father bother to teach you _anything _about fighting?" Most of the venom had left the Dunmer's voice, but he was still warily eyeing Edwin's hammer.

"Of course he did!" Edwin replied, more harshly than he'd intended to. It wasn't as though he needed to defend his father, especially to a gray-skin of all things, but he found himself doing it none the less. "He just wasn't around very often, so he couldn't spend much time on it."

When the Dunmer made no reply, he found himself continuing, "I tried to join the Stormcloaks, but I couldn't make it through the first few days of training. They said there was no place among them for me until I learned to hit the enemy more often than my allies. They only kept me on as a cook because of who my father is…"

"I'm sorry," Marcel said, placing a hand on the Nord's shoulder.

Edwin had been expecting to be insulted or told to stop complaining like a little girl, not _sympathy_, of all things. For a moment, he was frozen, unsure how to react. Then he came to his senses, realized that he would never be respected as an equal, as a _man_, by his countrymen if he allowed himself to show such weakness, especially in front of an elf, and pulled away.

"Don't be," the Nord said, forcing his face into a scowl in an effort to appear stronger than he felt. "Let's just get that Dragonstone."

"All right," the Dunmer replied, leading the way through the large, elaborately carved door that served as the crypt's entrance.

The door opened into a large chamber. At first, it seemed as though Edwin and Marcel were its only inhabitants, but once the door had shut and sealed out the sound of the wind blowing outside the Nord could hear the echoes of a pair of voices from somewhere on the other side of the chamber. Edwin readied his warhammer and prepared to let out another war cry, only for it to become a muffled grunt instead when Marcel clapped a hand over his mouth.

He grabbed the Dunmer's wrist and forced his hand away from his face, whirling around to face his companion as he asked, "What in Talos' name did you do that for?"

"Because I'd rather not go charging blindly toward an enemy I know nothing about, if it's all the same to you," Marcel replied. "If you can refrain from crushing anyone's skull for another few minutes, I'd like to go have a look at what we're up against and see if we can take care of them before they know we're here."

"But that's dishonorable," Edwin protested. Only a milk drinker would skulk about in the shadows instead of facing his enemy like a man. And Edwin was done being a milk drinker. If he'd survived a dragon attack, he could survive a few bandits.

"I prefer being alive to being honorable. If you want to rush in there like an idiot and risk getting yourself killed, you can do it without my help."

"Maybe I will. If today is the day I go to Sovngarde, so be it." Edwin began to prepare himself to charge deeper into the chamber again, only to find himself held back by a hand firmly gripping the collar of his armor.

"If you'll wait just a moment, I think I have a plan we can _both _be happy with," Marcel sighed. "It sounds like there are only two of them and, if I can confirm that, then relying entirely on stealth won't be necessary. _If _you allow me to sneak closer to them, and _if _there really are only two bandits in here with us, I'll pick one of them off with an arrow and, once the other one goes looking for where it came from, you can charge in with your warhammer. That way you don't have to sacrifice that precious honor of yours, and I don't have to worry about getting brained every time you take a swing at someone."

"That would work, I suppose…" Edwin replied. It wasn't how he would have chosen to do things, but he had to admit that it did make sense. And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he hadn't been overly fond of the thought of taking on an entire group of bandits alone. He saw no reason he couldn't have cleared out that particular chamber by himself, but the rest of the barrow would likely have been quite a different matter.

"Thank you," Marcel said, stepping into the shadows that cloaked the edges of the chamber.

Edwin tried to watch his companion so that he knew when to venture deeper into the chamber himself, but it soon became clear why the Dunmer was fond of taking a stealthy approach to combat. Apart from the metal fastenings of his armor and his red hair and eyes he almost looked like a part of the wall he was pressed against. It seemed as though having gray skin did have its uses.

Once Marcel had crossed about half the chamber, he fitted an arrow to his bowstring and let it fly. While a pair of large pillars blocked Edwin's view of what had happened, the soft thud followed by a gurgle he heard were enough to convince him that the Dunmer's target would, at the very least, not be in good enough condition to put up a fight. He charged toward the noise, glad to finally be moving again, and soon found himself face to face with a bandit armed with a sword and hide shield. She held up the shield in an attempt to stop his hammer, but the hide crumpled, along with her arm, under his first strike, and the next caught her in the chest with a resounding crunch. The bandit lay twitching on the ground for a moment, desperately clinging to life, then went still, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling as one last, choked sigh escaped her.

As Edwin looked down at her corpse, he felt an odd twinge of guilt. The kills outside had been _different_ somehow, the lack of time between them not giving him a chance to reflect on what he'd done. Now that there were no other bandits nearby or irritated companions to apologize to, he had nothing to do but look down at a face no different than the ones he passed on the street every day.

He shook his head, banishing the unpleasant thought back to the depths of his mind it had crawled out of. She had chosen this fate when she started her life as a bandit instead of a law-abiding citizen, and if it hadn't been caused by him some other adventurer would have done it sooner or later. Besides, she'd have done the same to him in a heartbeat if he'd given her a chance. A quick look around revealed the corpse of her former comrade slumped against a pillar, an arrow through his throat, and Marcel, having left his place among the shadows, picking the lock on a chest near their campfire.

After rummaging through its contents and pocketing a few items, Marcel frowned and closed the lid. "Haven't seen anything connecting these bandits to the ones I ran into near the border yet," he muttered. "At least they have a few potions and gems."

"Are we ready to get moving, then?" Edwin asked. He didn't want to be around the corpses any longer than he needed to be.

"I am if you are. Let's just hope the rest of them are as easy to clear out as these two were."

The next several chambers were much the same as the first, though Edwin was grateful that the narrow, winding hallways of the barrow made the rest of the bandits impossible to sneak up on. It seemed as though they were beginning to make some real progress through the barrow when, instead of a chamber all but identical to the others they'd passed through, they came upon a room covered in spider webs. Inside it they found a Dunmer trapped in one of said webs, but before either could get to him an enormous spider dropped down from the ceiling.

"How did that thing find enough food in here to get so big?" Marcel breathlessly asked as it rapidly crossed the distance between them. The Dunmer made a nearly successful attempt at plunging his sword into its eyes, but was forced to roll out of its way instead when it tried to take a bite out of his head.

After that, Marcel stuck with firing arrows into its more fleshy parts while Edwin handled the close-quarters combat. It made sense, really. Edwin's warhammer let him hack away at the spider without coming within biting range, and his armor was probably sturdy enough to stop its fangs if it did manage to get a bite in. It also made it possible for the Nord to focus entirely on the spider, instead of trying to find a way to swing his hammer without hitting someone right next to him.

Once the spider lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, dead, they approached the Dunmer it had been holding captive.

"You did it. You killed it. Now cut me down before anything else shows up," he said, struggling in vain to free himself.

"Do you know where the claw is?" Edwin asked.

"Yes, the claw. I know how it works. The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories! I know how they all fit together!"

"What are you talking about? Did that thing's poison go to your head?" Marcel asked, keeping Edwin between the other Dunmer and himself. Why his companion was so wary of an elf securely wrapped in several layers of webbing was beyond the Nord.

"Help me down, and I'll show you. You won't believe the power the Nords have hidden here."

"I don't think we have much choice," Edwin said. "Would you mind cutting him down, Marcel?"

"All right," Marcel replied, cutting the other Dunmer free of the web. "Now give us the claw, and show us what it does. If you don't cross us, you can go free once we're done here. Try anything funny, and you end up like that spider."

"Sounds fair to me," the bandit replied, fiddling with something by his hip.

Edwin didn't realize what was happening until Marcel was on the ground with a dagger in his thigh and the bandit was running deeper into the barrow as fast as his legs would carry him.

"Are you all right?" the Nord asked, dropping to his knees beside his fallen companion. He had no idea what he'd do if Marcel was seriously hurt, but he'd figure something out if that was what had happened. The thought of losing Marcel scared him more than it had any right to, even if he was just some gray-skin.

"I'm fine. I don't think he hit any arteries," the Dunmer replied, wincing as he tried and failed to get a good enough hold on the dagger to pull it out. "Should have seen that coming, though…"

"Let me help you with that," Edwin said, yanking the blade out of him in one smooth motion before he had a chance to respond. He became worried when, upon seeing the dagger, Marcel started laughing, but couldn't find any wounds on the elf apart from the one he'd just removed the blade from.

"Looks like he was one of the bandits I'm looking for after all," the Dunmer said, his laughter fading to a small smile. "He was even nice enough to give my dagger back to me. I'll have to return the favor when we catch up to him…"

After downing a healing potion, Marcel was on his feet again, his newly recovered dagger securely fastened to his belt. They found the bandit's corpse in a large chamber not far from the one they'd fought the spider in. He was lying face down in a pool of blood, and his corpse was covered in several deep lacerations, but his attacker seemed to have vanished. The only things in the room with them were a few draugr in the stone coffins carved out of the walls. Or at least, it appeared as though the draugr were the fully-dead variety until one sat up in its alcove in the wall and shambled toward them, sword drawn. It was easy enough to kill (again), though the resulting noise woke up two of its companions, neither of whom was any tougher than the first.

"What in Oblivion were those things?" Marcel asked, leaning against a pillar as he warily nudged a fallen draugr with his foot. The Dunmer seemed to be holding up well enough, but it was obvious that his leg was bothering him.

"Draugr. They were servants of dragons in life, so they were cursed to remain in this state of unrest in death."

"I just wish they hadn't decided our bandit friend needed to join them. I was hoping he could tell me where the rest of the ones who robbed me went." Marcel sighed. "Though I suppose if I had to pick just one thing to get back, the dagger would've been it."

The blade hadn't looked like anything special to Edwin, but he didn't see any need to point that out. He was sure the Dunmer had _some _reason the dagger was important to him.

A quick search of the bandit's belongings revealed the golden claw they were looking for, as well as a tattered journal. The last entry in it said something about a solution being in the palm of Edwin's hands if he had the claw, but apart from that there was nothing of use.

The rest of the barrow was filled with more draugr, most of whom were already awake and wandering around, and a few traps. After what felt like hours of walking down a seemingly endless series of near-identical hallways and chambers, they arrived in a long, wide hallway with elaborate carvings on all of its walls. At its end was a large stone door divided into three rings, each displaying the image of a different animal.

A quick examination of the claw revealed three animal symbols similar to those on the door, and after a bit of experimenting it became clear that the rings on the door could be rotated to match those on the claw. Once that was done, and the claw was fitted into the small holes at the door's center, it receded into the floor and revealed the largest chamber they'd come across so far.

It was largely empty until they reached the other side of it, where they found a large chest, a closed sarcophagus, and a wall covered in strange carvings. The wall seemed to be calling to Edwin somehow, and he found himself oddly uninterested in anything but being near it. As he drew closer, streams of light began to flow out of one of the carvings and wrap around him, until all he could see was light dancing around him. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the strange feeling stopped, and his vision returned to normal as something clattered across the floor and came to rest near his foot.

He turned around to find that the object was a sword, and a glance across the chamber revealed Marcel trying to fend off a draugr with only his dagger. The Dunmer seemed to be holding his own, but the draugr was able to use its greatsword to keep him well out of striking distance, and the Nord doubted he'd be able to continue dodging the draugr's strikes forever.

At that moment, Edwin decided that it was better to risk harming Marcel by attacking the draugr than to sit idly by and hope for a miracle and rushed to his companion's aid. The draugr was too focused on its current target to notice or care that he was rushing toward it, and the Nord successfully reduced it to a crumpled heap on the ground with a single swing of his hammer.

"Thanks," the Dunmer said, returning to the strange wall and reclaiming his sword.

"You're welcome," Edwin replied. It didn't fit the situation as well as he would have liked it to, but it still got the point across well enough.

"…You really aren't half bad with that thing, you know."

"Really?" the Nord asked, caught off guard by Marcel's drastic change of opinion on his fighting skill. Then again, he supposed his opinion of someone would change, too, if they went from nearly killing him to saving his life in a matter of hours.

"Really. You could be a great warrior if you found someone to train you."

"Thank you."

"There's nothing to thank me for; I'm just telling you the truth. If your father was too blind to see that, that's his problem."

Edwin had no idea what to say to that, simply nodding in response, but he couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face as he searched through the large chest near the sarcophagus the draugr had emerged from. He'd never been given that kind of praise before, and for the first time in his life he actually felt as though he really could make a real warrior of himself. It was definitely something he hoped he'd feel again, even if it had come from a Dunmer instead of one of his countrymen.

He found the Dragonstone in the chest, just as he'd hoped, and once he'd divided the rest of the chest's contents between him and Marcel, they made their way out of the barrow and into Skyrim's night air.

"So, what was so interesting about that wall back there?" the Dunmer asked once they'd found a place to make camp for the night.

"What do you mean?" Edwin asked. He couldn't have been distracted by it for more than a few seconds...

"It must have been something special if you thought it was more important that a sarcophagus flying open and a draugr chasing me across the room."

"I don't know," the Nord replied, sheepishly looking down at his feet. He didn't want to know what Marcel must have been thinking about him during that time. "There were streams of light everywhere, and the next thing I knew you were disarmed and fighting that draugr."

"That's strange… Maybe you just blacked out for a moment. It was fairly late, and this hasn't been a particularly easy day for either of us."

"You're probably right," Edwin said. At the very least, it made a lot more sense than a wall somehow controlling him. That sort of thing only happened in songs and legends, and he wasn't the sort of person who'd be in either of those.

A/N: And, end. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and that you will continue to read this fic in the future. Once again, please review; words cannot describe how much I appreciate getting feedback on my work! Thanks again for reading, and have a wonderful night/day/afternoon/evening/morning/whatever time of day you're reading this at!


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